Joyous Banality
by Random Guise
Summary: A followup to the movie "The President's Analyst". Dr. Sidney Schaefer has recovered from his kidnapping and attempted assassination from various organizations, but that doesn't mean every threat to the country is gone. (You probably haven't seen this movie - just sayin') I don't own these characters, but the 60's could be real groovy.


**A/N: A one-shot that takes place several months after the end of the movie "The President's Analyst".**

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Joyous Banality

"So, you think you were the only loose end?" Dr. Stephen Lee-Evans asked as he stood in front of the man in the chair. In his white suit, black tie and glasses he was almost a double for Colonel Sanders but the topic certainly wasn't chicken.

Dr. Sidney Schaefer, psychiatrist to the President of the United States and a patient and colleague of Dr. Lee-Evans looked a little disheveled. After having many of the world's superpowers attempt to kidnap him when he had a paranoid breakdown and fled Washington DC, he ultimately came to grips with the problem after escaping from the clutches of The Phone Company. The last year had stabilized with Schaefer resuming his calm, assured mindset thanks to the return of his now-wife Nan; the fact that he knew she was an agent of the Central Enquiries Agency took all the pressure off the good doctor, who had cracked under the strain of not being able to unload his problems onto anyone else due to "national security issues".

"Why wouldn't I be?" Schaefer asked. "The President only has one analyst, and if I happen to talk in my sleep now then the only person who's going to hear it is a wife that has as high a security clearance as I do. It's a beautiful setup."

"Yes, your friends at the CEA are confident there won't be any problems. The Federal Board of Regulations people aren't so sure, but after their repeated attempts to assassinate you failed we've managed to keep their Mr. Lux and his minions with the FBR on a short leash." The pun went unnoticed, as Sidney was unaware everyone directly under Lux was also under five foot two.

"So what's the problem? It isn't Russia; I still see Kropotkin from time to time, but we're friends and it was him and the CEA's own Don Masters who freed me from the psychotics at TPC. Come on Stephen, what's on your mind?"

"It's nothing you've done, my boy" he said as he sat in a nearby chair. "I don't think anyone else has seen the problem because it's precisely something they haven't done; at least not in a long time. Sidney, you're a rather good psychiatrist. Not taking into account our good President, you have some rather upper-class patients. You do rather well by the profession, and I might say they do well by having you as a member."

"Flattery, Stephen. I've worked my way up, just like you did. People with money have problems too; they just have the means to treat it by undergoing therapy. Their problems aren't substantially different from everyone else; I don't suffer any guilt from it."

"I didn't claim you did, but let me ask you a question and it might just be a generational thing. When was the last time you went to a regular barber?"

Sidney pulled his hair down in an attempt to see how long it was. "It has been a while, but I've been a little busy lately. I have a service that sends a person who comes in and gives me a trim every month or two during the day when I have an opening in my schedule."

"It's not the length of your hair, son. Did you ever regularly go to a bar and have a drink to unwind after a long day?"

"Not since I left the university. Now I've got a bar at home, as you well know; you've single-handedly depleted my stock of scotch. You're supposed to bring a bottle over next time."

"And I will. But let me tell you this; the older generation did things differently. We were raised going to the same barber for decades, and when we got of a certain age we would 'unwind' at a favorite bar. Many is the time I'd catch up on the town's news by listening to Phil while he cut my hair, or rail against the unfairness of the world while nursing a beer served by Harold."

"Beer? Since when were you a beer man?"

"Since before I could afford Scotch. But the point is, Sidney, that those were places where I could blow off some steam with whatever was bothering me."

Sidney smiled broadly. "And now you get paid to have others blow off steam to _you_."

"As do you" Stephen agreed. "But for others, the barber or bartender both represent a safe place to vent frustrations or sound out ideas; not as much now as before, and I think the younger people even less so but it is still a reality."

"So what you're saying is that someone should go get drunk and get their hair cut to feel really good about themselves."

Lee-Evans stared levelly at Schaefer.

"I was just kidding."

"Thank God, if that idea caught on I'd have to leave the country while I pondered why psychiatry was going to Hell. No, but let me ask you one more question: Do you think the President just talks to _you_ about his worries?" the older man asked as he leaned back in his chair.

The younger man pondered. "He talks to me, of course; man, I know that. He talks to his cabinet and advisers. From what he told me he doesn't talk to his wife. He hasn't mentioned anyone else."

"I'm not surprised; he probably doesn't even think about it. If it wasn't for a few off-handed reports I don't think I would have thought of it either. Did you know that the President still goes to the same barber down on 12th Street that he's been going to for twenty years? He closes his shop an hour early just to see the man."

"Astounding!"

"And once a month he likes to knock a few back at Lloyds Place if his schedule allows. Usually on a Tuesday, usually in disguise."

"Incredible" Sidney said as he shook his head.

"Maybe, but that's what he does. Some of our leaders have golfed and others sailed, but he stays in most of the time. Don't worry, though; he goes out with his detail. Where do you think I got my info from?"

"That's good information to know. Wait. You're telling me that the president could be relaying some vital secrets to these people and not even know it?" Sidney lost some of his composure and stood up to look out the window. No suspicious men in dark glasses were watching from across the way. This time.

"I'm not saying that. I'm simply saying that the _idea_ that could happen has crossed my mind. And if it crossed my mind, at some point it might cross the minds of someone who would love to get that information."

Sidney shuddered slightly, and then took a few deep breaths to steady himself. He was not going to give in to a paranoia attack. "Has this in fact happened?"

"Not that I know of; I'm only advising you of the possibility. He hasn't said anything yet, but the potential is there."

"That's astounding, it really is; while I get the full-on brunt of his anxieties he could be dishing out smaller doses that over time…over time could amount to a great deal of information. Has he been made aware of the issue?"

"No; you're the only one I've spoken to on the matter. With the delicate balance the president's health plays with the country's security, I thought it best to discuss it with you."

"I appreciate your faith in my ability as a psychiatrist to detect and remedy the situation."

"Faith nothing. You're just in a position to do something about it. It's your job to subtly convince the president that he should…limit his conversation to small talk, sports, weather, hobbies and things like that."

"Safe topics. Stuff that has absolutely NO bearing on the nation as a whole."

"Exactly. Joyous banality, that's what you could think of it as; the more banal, the safer for the country. If the president wants to unload, let him do it on you. Otherwise it's the Yankees, rain, gardening and bottle cap collecting."

Sidney smiled. "Great. Beautiful. Oh...now I see." The smile disappeared for a moment, then slowly reappeared again. "In other words, not much different for me than it was before."

"That's right son, just another service you can perform for your country. You've got me and Nan to help you along, and I know you can do it. Someday you'll be able to write a paper about it."

"Don't placate me, Stephen; you know I'd do it for my country as well as my patient." He sat down again and rubbed his temples. "I suppose I'll have to prod him to not talk to his shoe-shine man either."

"Don't worry, the shoe guy is deaf. He doesn't hear a word."

"Are you sure? Maybe I'm being just a little paranoid, but are you really sure?"

Now it was Stephen's turn to frown.

The End

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**A/N: This was a great comedy from the 60's, where James Coburn starts out as a calm and cool psychiatrist and slowly descends into a paranoid existence only to find out that it's justified. It would now be considered a period piece that pokes fun at the clash of conservative and liberal lifestyles during that era while also sending up the CIA and FBI, who complained about their agencies being ridiculed and therefore had the names changed to CEA and FBR.**

**I just recently received a copy of this movie on DVD and watched it again after many years; I STILL like it.**


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